Visiting
by Burnt Scones and Roses
Summary: Arthur was simply having a quiet day to himself. That is, until Francis showed up. Fluffy FrUk one-shot. Rated T for Arthur's potty-mouth.


**Visiting**

The skies were gray and cloudy as Francis arrived in London, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for a late October day. The Frenchman tucked his dark red coat around him a bit more securely, giving a small shudder. Why on earth had he decided to visit Arthur today? Oh well, he was already there and was going to make the best of it. Francis walked quickly along the streets, as did everyone else, knowing the skies could open at any moment and release a hellacious torrent of freezing rain. He arrived at Arthur's door in the nick of time, knocking thrice upon the wood. There was a shuffling from inside, a thud, and muttered swearing before the door opened and familiar green eyes glared up at Francis.

"What do you want, frog?" sneered Arthur. "I'll have you know, I was in the middle of a BBC Doctor Who marathon."

Francis simply smiled and the first droplets of rain began to fall, one landing directly on the Frenchman's nose and dribbling to the tip. "I came to see you, of course!" he replied enthusiastically. Arthur frowned.

"Well, I don't want you here, good day." With that, the Englishman attempted to close the door in Francis' face, but he stuck his foot in before it could shut. "Arthur, please, it'll be pouring rain any second now. . ." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Find shelter somewhere." He again tried to close the door, but Francis pushed back against it and offered Arthur his most pitiful face. Like a puppy that was left on the side of the road. Their eyes met briefly and there was a short pause before Arthur let out a slow sigh. "Fine, come in. . . _only _until the rain stops, and no longer!"

Francis beamed happily and entered, a bit damp since the rain was falling more frequently now. He removed his coat and hung it up on the rack near Arthur's door, revealing a white undershirt beneath. The Englishman had already retreated back to his living room to continue watching TV. Francis smiled slightly to himself; Arthur did love his BBC. Trailing after him, Francis seated himself next to Arthur, who had wrapped himself in a comforter bearing the 'God Save the Sex Pistols' emblem on it.

"Don't even speak," said Arthur lowly. Francis didn't, simply holding his hands up in defense. He was actually completely silent for several minutes, which greatly surprised the Englishman. By the time the episode had ended - Francis had actually been quite absorbed in it - the rain was pouring outside and lightning flashed frequently, followed by a low rumble of thunder. "You're quiet, frog. A bit too quiet. It makes me think you're up to something."

Laughing softly, Francis countered, "First you tell me not to speak and then you reprimand me for being too quiet. It's just like you, Angleterre." Arthur glared at him from the side. "Don't call me that." Francis wasn't even listening. "Do you really just sit home and watch TV all day anymore?" inquired the Frenchman, leaning over to wrap an arm around Arthur. "Don't touch me," he said lowly, but at the same time made no move to pull away. "And no, I don't sit around all day; I just felt like having a day to myself for once. That is, until _you _showed up." Arthur huffed.

"You can't hate me that much, since you haven't blocked my phone number or changed your address." Francis gave a laugh. Arthur simply rolled his eyes. "I daresay you'd still find a way to contact me. . ." he muttered, glancing away. They again sat in silence for sometime, save for the noise of the TV. That is, until the power went out.

"Fuck,"

"That's one way of putting it," Francis smirked a bit.

Arthur again glared at him from the side, continuing, "It was bad enough having you here, but now the power's gone out on top of it." Francis simply laughed and made to slide his arm around Arthur's waist, but this was a bit too much for the other nation, who shoved the Frenchman back. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, exactly?" he snapped.

Francis simply shrugged. "I'm an affectionate person." "Well, I'm not, so you keep your hands off me, understand?" Again, Francis held his hands up in defense before clasping them in his lap. The silence between them now was heavy, but neither seemed to want to break it. Still, it was broken nonetheless by a flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder, causing Arthur to nearly jump out of his skin. "Are you alright?" queried Francis, concern laced in his voice. "I'm fine; the thunder just surprised me, that's all!" responded Arthur quickly, his face growing hot. He was glad the room was dim, hoping Francis couldn't see it. As the lightning and thunder continued, the Englishman jumped and twitched nervously.

"Angleterre,"

"Don't call me that-"

"are you afraid of thunder?" Francis' voice was teasing, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel a little bit sorry for Arthur. "You stupid git, of course I'm not afraid of-" Thunder shook the room and the Englishman gasped, flinching down into his comforter. Francis' expression softened slightly and he added gently, "It's okay, you know." Arthur huffed and attempted to straighten with what little dignity he had left. "No, it's stupid," he responded, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest.

Carefully, Francis moved toward Arthur once more, gently attempting to place his arm around the Englishman's waist. Arthur tensed, unmoving as he did so. "Relax, it's not like I'm going to hurt you," chuckled Francis softly. Arthur was quiet. Yet more silence passed between them, Francis taking the opportunity to slip underneath the comforter with his friend. Looking down at the Englishman, the Frenchman smiled, happy he was able to get so close to him. "What are you grinning like a Cheshire Cat for?" grumbled Arthur, shifting a bit in Francis' grasp. "Oh, it's nothing," replied the Frenchman airily.

It took some time, but Arthur slowly began to relax against Francis. The thunder and lightning continued to rage on outside and the Englishman flinched when a particularly loud clap of thunder struck, his first instinct being to bury his face against Francis' chest. Gently, Francis smoothed back Arthur's hair with his free hand, soothing, "You're alright, it's fine. . ." Letting out a shuddering breath, Arthur felt his cheeks warm at the display of weakness, but he couldn't bring himself to break away from Francis. He was just so. . . comforting. Yes, that was the word. And he smelt of roses and the earth. . . Bloody hell, what was he thinking! He was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, he should not be taking comfort in a frog like this!

"You probably think you're being weak and silly for acting like this," hummed Francis, as if reading Arthur's thoughts, "but you're not. Nation or not, you're a human being. You have feelings; you have fears, worries, and regrets. . . perhaps more than the average person." He paused a moment. "What I'm trying to say is, it's okay to show your emotions. They're what makes you human." Francis smiled down at Arthur, pressing his lips softly to the top of the Englishman's head. Sighing, Arthur closed his eyes, simply listening to the slow rhythm of Francis' heartbeat for a while.

"It reminds me of the Blitz," Arthur said suddenly, causing Francis to look down at him and tilt his head slightly. "You know, the Blitz during WWII?" Francis nodded quickly and made to rest his chin atop Arthur's head. "I know," he breathed softly. "You don't have to worry about anything like that anymore, though." Francis offered Arthur a smile, who glanced up at him. "You're safe."

The Englishman had heard that phrase before, from countless others. 'You're safe,' 'It's okay,' but what did they truly mean? They were empty words; meaningless comfort. And yet, there was a sincerity in Francis' voice and eyes that there hadn't been in others. Arthur could do nothing but accept and believe that what Francis was saying was the truth; though he knew this would only hurt him in the end. After all, how can anyone ever be certain of the future? Letting out a sigh, Arthur closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the Frenchman's chest.

"Thank you,"

"Mm?"

"Don't make me say it again."

A short pause.

"Thank you. . . Francis."


End file.
